


Questions

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Restraint [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Lack of Communication, Light Bondage, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dino doesn’t know how Kyoya knows his room number, doesn’t bother attempting to ask when he knows he’ll just get a flat stare and a barely-raised eyebrow as answer." Dino puts his time to better use than asking questions Kyoya won't answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions

Dino has to admit that by all the logic of his life so far, this has been going  _too_  well.

It’s been days now that he’s been scoping Kyoya out, holding the other’s gaze longer than he needs to, letting his smile linger far longer than is necessary for a simple taunt. And Kyoya’s been responding in kind, stepping in closer with a grace that whispers intention, fitting his knee between Dino’s so his thigh presses high and intimate against the blond’s leg even as the silver of his tonfa swings dangerously close to Dino’s face. Their training has become as much foreplay as it is fight, the two of them working themselves close and then pivoting away like they are playing out some intricate dance, until Dino was certain of response when he leaned in close against Kyoya’s hair and murmured a suggestion about his hotel room low enough for Romario to at least feign ignorance.

He had been ready for a glare, or a scoffing laugh, or maybe the hard crack of metal against his skull or his teeth. But Kyoya had just cut his eyes sideways at him, tipped his head like he was considering, and when he said, “Okay” in a tone of complete boredom he had turned his head so the exhale came hot at the corner of Dino’s mouth, and Dino was left instantly and painfully hard.

The drive back to the hotel was nearly-silent, Romario’s usual easy conversation cut off by the unusual second passenger in the car, and of all the things Dino wants to do with Kyoya he doesn’t think idle conversation is high on either of their lists. By the time they pull up in front of the glass-fronted building Romario has invented an excuse to be elsewhere, and Dino is flushing pink with anticipation and self-consciousness, and Kyoya...is smooth, moves easy out of the car and for the front door like he’s been here before, and all Dino can do is trail in his wake. He doesn’t know how Kyoya knows his room number, doesn’t bother attempting to ask when he knows he’ll just get a flat stare and a barely-raised eyebrow as answer. He puts his time to the better use of fishing his keycard out of his pocket so he has it ready in his hand when Kyoya pauses in front of the door and glances back for him.

Dino wasn’t sure how to proceed once they’re inside. The room is maid-tidied, the sheets on the bed pulled neat and the pillows straightened, but otherwise it looks lived in, boots in the corner and a jacket thrown over the chair and if he had expected a visitor he would have cleaned up better before he left, but--

That’s when Kyoya turns on him, takes a half-step forward like he’s cornering Dino against the just-shutting door and leans in to press his mouth to the blond’s. Dino’s thoughts blow away, dust in a high wind, all his composure giving way to the heat of Kyoya’s mouth. Kyoya kisses like he fights, quick and clean and efficient, a whip-quick move of tongue and teeth at Dino’s lips before he’s pulling away, moving across the room and towards the bed before Dino has a chance to react.

“Hey,” Dino says from the door, feeling shaky and off-balance and strangely like he’s the one still in middle school. “Hey, wait, are you sure you…?”

Kyoya pauses by the edge of the bed, the steel grey of his eyes dragging down the open edge of Dino’s jacket and back up, an instant once-over that leaves Dino feeling stripped bare and hotter than ever. “Did you change your mind?” is what he says, the words turning into a taunt more than a sincere question, and while Dino is still staring in shocked-still silence Kyoya reaches for the bottom of his vest and pulls it up over his head without so much as blinking. There’s the drag of dark fabric, a flick of motion as the other shakes his hair free, and then the vest is dropping to the floor and there’s just Kyoya, the white of his shirt looking almost translucent and strangely indecent without the cover of his vest.

“You don’t have to stay,” Kyoya suggests, turning to step towards the window as he slips his tie loose of his collar. “I can appreciate this suite alone more effectively than I can with you.”

“Jesus christ, Kyoya,” Dino blurts, and he’s stumbling across the room without pausing to kick his boots free. They’re too loose, the trailing laces tripping him up as they haven’t all afternoon, but Kyoya’s turning back and dropping his tie and Dino’s reaching out without thinking, fitting his fingers into silky dark hair and pressing the heat of his palms against sharp-lined jaw. Kyoya’s eyelashes shift, hang heavy over his eyes like he’s hesitating, but when Dino leans in to kiss him again his response is immediate, the scrape of teeth against lips and the friction of his tongue against the roof of Dino’s mouth like he’s been doing this his whole life. There’s a hand fisting at Dino’s collar, a forearm coming up to press against his collarbone, and when he stumbles back the edge of the bed catches the inside of his knees, collapses him breathless against the mattress. And Kyoya’s following, bearing him down like his lesser weight is going to successfully hold Dino in place and smirking, a twist to his mouth as much mockery as it is pleasure. Dino’s body doesn’t seem to care which of the two it is; he’s rocking up, his hips moving of their own free will to press against the hot inside of Kyoya’s thigh, and when Kyoya draws back it’s enough persuasion for Dino to follow, to drag his hands free of the not-tight-enough hold so he can grab against the crisp white of Kyoya’s shirt.

“I’m the teacher here,” he reminds, grinning so wide at his own teasing that it’s hard to fit the words out past the tension at his lips. Kyoya has good balance, far better than Dino can usually manage, but under the circumstances their position is more an advantage to Dino than anything else. He can tip his weight sideways, drop Kyoya over to fall on his back across the bed, and before the other has time to recover Dino is on him, their proximity allowing him to get far closer than he would have been able to in a true combat situation.

At first it’s just kissing, Dino’s fingers drawn to the tantalizing soft of Kyoya’s hair and the curve of his waist through his uniform shirt rather than anything more than that. But when Dino sucks at Kyoya’s lip the other grabs at his shirt, like he’s trying to pull him in by force, and instinct takes over long enough for Dino to drag his hand loose so he can close his fingers tight at Kyoya’s wrist and drag his hold free.

“Don’t you ever take it easy?” he’s asking, half-laughing as he pushes Kyoya’s arm up above his head to hold him down.

It seems reasonable, given the position they were in before, just part and parcel of their usual interactions turned hot and sensual. He’s not expecting the way Kyoya’s knee crushes in against his leg just above his kneecap, or the swipe of the other’s free hand at his face like he’s sincerely attempting to claw at Dino’s eyes.

“Woah,” and Dino’s catching that hand too, pushing it back to Kyoya’s shoulder and out of range of his face. “Hey, can’t we slow down a little for this? I’m not  _that_  into getting beaten up, you know.”

“ _Get off me_ ,” Kyoya hisses, and all the confused amusement in Dino’s blood turns to ice at the sound of the other’s voice. He blinks, clears the haze of desire from his eyes so he can see reality instead, and it’s only then that he realizes that Kyoya isn’t looking at him anymore, is staring off past his shoulder with his eyes wide and teeth bared like he’s a cornered animal. His face is white, completely bloodless with a terror Dino has never seen in all their training, and his motions are getting stronger, so violent Dino has the passing thought he might manage to dislocate his shoulder or break a wrist if it would mean getting free.

It’s only a moment, the span of a heartbeat enough time for everything to sink in; then Dino is letting go, stumbling back and off the bed until he does trip on his laces and falls heavily to the floor. He doesn’t even throw his hands out to catch himself; he’s holding them up, instead, offering his palms and the pounding pulse at his wrists for Kyoya as the other surges forward like a spring loosed from its bounds, skids across the floor to slam Dino back to the carpet so hard he can feel his head recoil from the impact as his vision goes white.

“Sorry, sorry!” Dino’s blurting, offering apology even as his thoughts skip hazy and dizzy from the fall. “I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

It’s strange to see the awareness come back into Kyoya’s features. In the space of a blink his eyes are back in focus, in the gap of a choked-off inhale the murderous tension in his shoulders relaxes. A knot of true fright in Dino’s chest gives way, as death eases off to slightly less immediate than  _this second_.

“Sorry,” he says again, as Kyoya lowers the hand he had raised to land somewhere unreasonably tender on Dino’s body. His other hand is still splayed wide across Dino’s collarbones, the full weight of his body holding the other down, and Dino has no interest in appearing as anything other but completely nonthreatening in this moment. “We can stop, it’s okay, it’s fine.”

Kyoya blinks. There’s a tinge of color coming back to his always-pale cheeks, now, something approaching human warmth flushing at his lips. He’s breathing harder than he should be, still recovering from the grip of -- whatever that was, that just happened -- but Dino isn’t dumb enough to comment on it directly. He just lies still, passive and completely submissive and more than half-expecting Kyoya to climb off and leave the hotel entirely.

He’s not expecting the arrogant toss of the other’s head, the sneer audible in his voice when he says, “I never said anything about stopping.” He shifts his weight, the knee between Dino’s legs that had been a threat moments ago becoming a suggestion, now, gliding up higher slowly enough that by the time he bumps the inside seam of Dino’s jeans the other’s body is tentatively reconsidering interest again.

“That’s fine too,” Dino agrees, maybe a little faster than he should. But Kyoya’s shirt is clinging to his shoulders, the fast pace of his breathing is making his pulse flutter visibly hard against his throat, and Dino is only human, after all, and he’s been thinking about this every night since he actually met his difficult student.

The speed of his response is not lost, judging from the way Kyoya’s smile slips wider up one side of his mouth. “As expected,” he says, speaking like he’s forming the words for his own consideration, and then he leans in and Dino’s lingering concern dissolves under the distracting heat of Kyoya’s mouth on his. The other is still pushing, the force feeling the harder for the floor against Dino’s back, but even under the aggressive drag of his tongue Dino can’t feel any of the pain he knows probably should correspond to this treatment. He’s too anxious with want, instinct telling him to worry about the fallout after the fact, and when slender fingers wind in under the weight of his belt he’s not in any state to put up an argument, much less a fight.

It’s an awkward angle; Kyoya’s hand has to press flush against the dip of Dino’s hip to fit under the other’s waistband, the belt draws tight against the unexpected strain of a hand fitting under it. But there are fingers against Dino’s bare skin, tracing out the dip running along the crease of his hip and thigh, and then Kyoya’s fingers are dragging over him, feeling out the line of his cock as it swells into complete attention under the friction. It’s a slow process, more exploratory than deliberately sexual, but there’s no real deliberation needed for Dino’s breathing to hitch faster; he’s starting to tremble just from the thought of it, the awareness that it’s Kyoya’s hand skimming against his head and down to brush over the weight of his balls as the tension in his stomach forms itself into a groan in his throat.

Kyoya’s expression doesn’t change, either during the motion or at the sound that skips high as it spills from Dino’s throat. He just traces out against the other, presses his fingertips in against the firm-flushed skin and the ridge along the head of Dino’s cock, and then he’s sliding his hand free, tipping his head to the side like he’s decided on something.

“You’ll do,” he says, like Dino has passed some sort of entrance exam. The realization makes Dino choke on his inhale, the sound turning into a shocked protest as he starts to sit up until he blinks and realizes that Kyoya is actively grinning now, his smile gone wide enough to make him look dangerous instead of model-pretty. The realization that he was being baited -- that Kyoya was  _teasing_  him -- would take Dino’s breath again, if the bright of that smile wasn’t enough to finish the job already.

“You’re terrible,” Dino protests, dropping back to the floor so he can stare at the ceiling and try to remember what it was to feel like he could breathe normally. “I don’t know why I decided to start this.”

“I certainly have no idea,” Kyoya says, his tone as flat with disinterest as it always is. “You  _do_  have lube and condoms, I hope.”

“Yeah.” Dino doesn’t ask how much experience Kyoya has, doesn’t ask where he got it; that’s never a good question with anyone, least of all with someone apparently on a hair-trigger for murderous self-defense and enough years younger than Dino to make the question condescending. He just gestures, instead, lifts a hand to point at the drawer beside the bed. “In there.”

Kyoya doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look back at Dino; he just moves, rocks up onto his knees so he can reach out and pull the drawer open. Dino doesn’t try to sit up or move them to the bed; he just stays still, sprawled out on the floor and with the worst boner he’s had all week while Kyoya pulls out the bottle and a foil-wrapped condom from the as-yet unused box Dino brought with him.

Dino’s not expecting the toss when it comes, the packet arcing through the air to land just below his collarbones even though he doesn’t get his hands up in time to block it. “Put that on,” Kyoya orders without turning, gets to his feet and sets the bottle back down so he can start unbuttoning his shirt.

At least it answers the question of positions. Dino wasn’t sure, would have been willing to cede his mild preference for topping for the gratification of fulfilling any number of imagination-hazy fantasies, but it’s good to have some indication of how this is going to go. He sits up, shrugs his jacket off to fall to the floor behind him, and finally takes the time to draw a leg up so he can work his boots off his feet. It should be a quick process, a simple matter of tugging one and then the other off so he can peel his jeans off his legs, but he makes the mistake of glancing up at a flutter of white fabric and gets his gaze in focus just in time to see Kyoya’s shirt slide free of his shoulders like feathers falling free of invisible wings.

He’s beautiful. Kyoya is always beautiful, has been stunning since the first moment Dino saw him, but this is something else, the shift of shoulders under pale skin completely absent any touch of the sun. He’s not even bruised, no hint of dark injury or red-lined cut to mar the curve of his spine from the plane of his shoulders down to the top edge of his slacks.

Dino doesn’t realize he’s staring, doesn’t realize he’s frozen still and shocked with one boot in his hands and the other still on his foot. He can barely think to breathe, can’t recall where he is or what he’s doing, and then he looks up and Kyoya’s smirking at him, the dark line of his eyelashes interrupting his gaze into something hot and sensual. He doesn’t speak aloud, doesn’t look away; he just stares right back, holds Dino’s attention so completely the other can’t look down even at the telltale down of a belt buckle coming open or the click of a zipper unfastening. It’s not until Kyoya himself looks away, down at the slacks slipping off his hips so he can step free, that Dino can blink and take in the flex of the other’s legs as he moves, the cream-white at the inside of Kyoya’s knees and the casual elegance of his foot as he draws it free. The slacks are folded, laid carefully across the bed, and then he’s pushing at his boxers too, stripping himself down to skin before Dino has had a chance to catch his breath. There’s no trace of self-consciousness, only a passing hint of amusement at Dino’s interest; it’s not a show, no part of this is for Dino’s benefit, it’s just a necessity for the conclusion that has been too long in coming.

“Are you going to be ready?” Kyoya asks without looking at Dino, his words flat and bored like he doesn’t care about the answer, and that’s enough reminder. Dino looks down, flushes warm with realization, and then he’s fumbling his boots off, struggling with the fastenings at the front of his jeans while he tries very hard to not listen to the click of the lube coming open or the slick-damp sound of wet fingers catching on each other. His zipper jams halfway, leaves him dragging uselessly at the metal tab, and then there’s the soft noise of movement and he can’t help but look up again.

Kyoya’s dropped to his knees, one hand still holding the bottle but fallen nearly forgotten at his side, his wrist making a clean angle with his forearm that would catch Dino’s attention if not for what his other hand is doing. Dino can’t actually  _see_  -- the angle is wrong, all he can catch is the strained angle of Kyoya’s arm as he reaches around behind himself -- but he can imagine, can look at the hard line of Kyoya’s cock or the faraway haze in the other’s eyes and can more than picture what the other is doing. There’s not much reaction on his features to give it away; Dino can’t actually tell when he gets his fingers inside himself, there’s none of the faint flinch of sensation he usually sees on his partner’s faces. There’s just calm, distant consideration like he’s seeing past the hotel wall and out to the shadowed haze of the falling night, and Dino doesn’t know what Kyoya’s seeing but he knows that what  _he’s_  looking at is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He wants to touch. His jeans are still caught at his hips, his zipper only half-down and his t-shirt still clinging to his shoulders, but he reaches out anyway, abandons consideration of his own clothes and the hard ache of heat underneath to lean forward, stretch his fingers to reach for the flushed pink of Kyoya’s cock. He’s burning to the touch, radiant-glowing against Dino’s fingertips, and Dino’s leaning in closer, hunching over his knees and reaching to wrap his fingers around Kyoya and stroke over him, when there’s a sharp inhale, telltale enough to make him go still even before the forgotten hand comes up to push his touch away.

“The condom,” Kyoya reminds, and when Dino looks up his eyes are in-focus again, only an unusual softness at his lower lip to speak to the rhythmic motion Dino can barely see up his shoulder. The rejection is like electricity, frustrating and arousing at once, and Dino doesn’t even try to drag his zipper down farther. He just falls back to the floor, presses his shoulders against the floor so he can arch his hips up and force his jeans down off his legs. The waistband catches at his skin, drags burn-red friction against his hip and scrapes his knuckle raw, but then it’s free, he’s pushing the jeans down and off his feet and kicking them aside to be forgotten. Kyoya is watching him now, his mouth curved around a smirk again, but he’s not the only one who doesn’t care about undressing with an audience. Dino’s shirt is next, a quick drag of fabric up around his waist and over his head, and then his boxers, the motion of his tattoo in his periphery startling like it always is when he’s not wearing a shirt. That leaves him stripped down to bare skin, turning without waiting to see if Kyoya’s staring so he can ruffle through the scattered clothing for the foil that has gone entirely missing in the last few minutes.

“You lack efficiency,” Kyoya observes, and that sounds too much like a threat to Dino’s ears.

“One sec,” he insists, shaking his shirt out for the third time. “Just a minute, really, I--”

“ _Dino_ ,” and the use of his name is shocking enough to seize his attention, to still his motions and bring him turning around to gaze wide-eyed at Kyoya, and Kyoya’s extended hand, and the packet caught between his fingers. “Hurry up.”

He doesn’t sound hurried. Kyoya still sounds calm, level, steady the way he always sounds steady during their fights. But his mouth is open, his breathing visibly if not audibly speeding, and it’s not like he has a monopoly on impatience. Dino accepts the packet, falls back so he can tear the wrapper open with his fingers instead of his teeth, and when he rolls the thin latex down over himself that motion, at least, comes easy with experience. Kyoya’s moving in over him almost before he’s ready, casting the other into his shadow before Dino can reach up to steady him, and then elegant fingers are catching at Dino’s half-raised hands, dragging them up and back to bear them down to the floor.

“Hold still,” Kyoya orders, sounding as calm as if he’s giving orders to his disciplinary committee. He’s all dark lashes and soft mouth, from this close up, but Dino is too shocked-still to move, some instinct in him responding to that command in spite of all his years of learned leadership. Kyoya pushes harder at his wrists, the weight crushing bruises in against Dino’s skin, but he hardly cares; Kyoya’s moving, too, head tipped down to watch what he’s doing as he shifts, and Dino can’t catch his breath for the tight coil of anticipation under his skin. If it were him he would move too fast, can feel his want cresting into anxious peaks under his skin, but Kyoya seems almost bored, like he’s never experienced such things as nerves or adrenaline at all. He just moves back, shifts his weight back over Dino’s body so smoothly the other barely has a moment to catch his breath at the first contact before Kyoya’s sliding down onto him.

It happens all at once, a single smooth motion as elegant and easy as everything Kyoya ever does. One moment Dino is halfway through an inhale, tensing against the anticipation of friction; then Kyoya’s on him,  _around_  him, hot and tight and even with the layer of latex it’s almost too much, Dino’s arching up off the floor and groaning desperation like he’s begging for something. Kyoya doesn’t stop until he’s all the way down, his expression still calm and composed, but his fingers are tightening on Dino’s wrists, pressing in harder like he’s trying to brace himself. He takes a breath, another, and Dino is just starting to suspect the pause is more for Kyoya to collect himself than otherwise when he moves and everything in Dino’s head arcs out and away again.

Dino’s not trying to move to match Kyoya’s rhythm. He’s still not sure what he did wrong, before, doesn’t want to take control if Kyoya doesn’t want to give it up, but he can’t help the little instinctive movements of his hips, the way his body tries to tilt up to catch Kyoya every time he draws up and away. Kyoya’s not meeting Dino’s eyes; he’s staring at the other’s shoulder instead, his eyes locked onto the dark pattern of the other’s tattoo like it’s something fascinating and all-consuming. Dino can see the way his throat is working on his breathing, the way his eyelashes shift when he shifts to move a little faster, but he can’t sit up to kiss him, can’t reach out to brace against the other’s hip or stroke up over his untouched cock or even brush over the faint sheen of sweat collecting against Kyoya’s shoulder and the  curve of his neck. It feels good, it feels  _amazing_ , the slow steady pressure of Kyoya sliding down onto him, but Dino’s fingers are curling in against his palms, his hands falling into involuntary fists over his head like he’s bracing himself for pain instead of pleasure.

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t even try to twist his hands free of Kyoya’s hold, but when the other starts moving faster, taking long drawn-out motions like he’s trying to drown Dino in sensation, there are words spilling up Dino’s throat, accidental sound formed out of the desperation digging his fingernails in against his palms.

“Kyoya,” he manages, and that sends a shudder up his spine too, he didn’t realize he’d sound so wrecked. Kyoya blinks, his eyes drawing up to Dino’s face at last, and Dino’s blood flares hot, tension collecting the knot of a promise low in his stomach. He pushes it back in a panic, blurts the rest of his words like he’s in a race with himself. “Let me touch you.”

Those eyes doesn’t flicker, there’s not a hint of reaction on Kyoya’s features. There’s something uncanny about how calm he looks, like he’s unaffected by what they’re doing even though Dino is perfectly able to see how hard he is.

He tries again. “Just one hand.” A tug, gentle just to demonstrate, but Kyoya’s hand goes tighter to lock him in place. “Just to jerk you off, that’s all, I promise.”

The movement stills. It’s almost a relief, to have the edge of impending pleasure recede away; Dino tries to think of it that way, even while his body tingles under the surge of protesting heat in his blood. Kyoya is staring at him, eyes too dark and shadowed to read, and for a moment Dino thinks he’s about to pull away, to get up and walk out entirely.

Then there’s friction at his skin, the give of tight-wound fingers releasing him, and Kyoya’s hand is bracing just over his shoulder instead while the other starts moving again. His rhythm is the same as it was, his gaze back at Dino’s shoulder instead of his eyes, but at least Dino’s hand is free, and that seems like the closest thing to explicit permission he’s going to get.

He doesn’t try to reach to pull Kyoya down for a kiss, or to feel out the damp clinging to the other’s skin; he’s not sure what reaction he’d get, and however much he wants to for himself he did promise. He’s careful instead, slides his hand down along his own chest to avoid accidental friction, and then he’s reaching out to close his fingers around Kyoya’s cock and stroke up in a motion made jerky with the flare of heat under his skin. Kyoya’s head dips down, his eyes falling shut, and Dino doesn’t wait for more, just starts sliding his fingers up in time with the movement of Kyoya sliding down onto him. Kyoya makes a sound, a weird breathless inhale, and Dino can feel his fingers tighten, nails scraping pressure against the line of the other’s wrist. Dino’s staring and he can’t stop, gazing wide-eyed and desperate at the top of Kyoya’s bowed head like he can see anything at all of the other’s reaction, and then Kyoya takes a sudden sharp inhale that sounds so much like a sob Dino almost stops in panic. But no, he’s tensing, he’s coming in sticky lines across Dino’s chest and clenching down in telltale ripples of sensation, and Dino barely hears the stuttering exhale Kyoya manages before his vision cascades into light and everything goes warm and blissful. His hips are jerking up again, that involuntary motion he couldn’t restrain, but Kyoya isn’t complaining; he’s still drawing tense every few heartbeats, aftershocks shivering through him and into Dino’s own body, and for a moment they don’t need words to fall into sync with each other.

Kyoya’s the one to pull away, almost while Dino is still shivering with the last vibrations of satisfaction under his skin. He has to let his lingering hold on the other’s cock go in a rush as Kyoya slides off and gets to his feet, leaving Dino sprawled sticky and pleasure-hazed on the floor.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, steps up over the other and heads towards the bathroom without another word. Dino’s left to blink at the ceiling, feeling faintly like he’s been used, definitely like he’s missing some vital piece of information, and too languid and sated to mind as much as he should.

At least he knows better than to ask.


End file.
